


Wouldn't Be The Worst Thing

by deltorafray



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: (in the US), 20-year-old Peter Parker, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Daddy Kink, First Time, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Getting Together, Graphic Sex, Light-Hearted, M/M, Oral Sex, Panty Kink, Riding, Rimming, Smut, Sugar Baby Peter Parker, Sugar Daddy Tony Stark, Underage Drinking, drama-free
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-06
Updated: 2020-07-06
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:07:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25108228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deltorafray/pseuds/deltorafray
Summary: In which Peter somehow finds himself having a sugar daddy in Tony Stark without either of them meaning to, but neither really do anything to stop it. It’s not like anyone else bats an eye either, so it just … happens.
Relationships: Peter Parker/Tony Stark
Comments: 60
Kudos: 1195





	Wouldn't Be The Worst Thing

Tony Stark pays for everything. He pays for the Avengers’ compound, their high-tech weaponry, and state-of-the-art transport vehicles. He pays for the development of their suits and the regular upgrades that follow. He has relief foundations set up for any property damage and medical bills incurred from civilian injuries during their messy missions. He pays for Chinese takeout whenever any of the Avengers are feeling peckish after a gruelling training session or boring meeting with S.H.I.E.L.D. He pays for everything.

No one bats an eye that Tony pays for Peter’s entire tuition to Columbia and any academic supplies he might need. It’s pocket change to a man who has his own private space program. And then, when Peter moves out of his dorm during sophomore year, it’s only natural that Tony gives him a nice apartment close to campus. He owns a few of those buildings anyway. Also, a kid like Peter shouldn’t be worrying about trivial things like money when he’s busy doing friendly-neighbourhood superhero things on top of acing his chemical engineering classes, so Tony sets up a weekly stipend just for the usual living expenses. It’s no big deal.

\--

Peter comes home to an expensive-looking paper bag sitting on top of an even more expensive looking box. There’s a hand-written note stuck on the bag that just says ‘ _Wear this tomorrow night – TS_ ’

He takes a picture of the whole thing with his phone and texts it to Tony.

_Did you send me this?_

_Yup_

_It’s not a bomb or anything. Have you opened it?_

The paper bag has something in Italian that Peter can’t pronounce printed on the side of it in fancy cursive lettering and contains a box that houses a handsome-looking pair of shoes in dark brown leather. Opening the other box reveals a deep burgundy suit and a shirt in a darker plum, almost black colour. The fabric’s texture is soft and luxurious and Peter kinda wants to drop everything and try it on right that minute. Instead, he texts Tony back.

_What’s tomorrow night?_

_Rhodey’s birthday. St. Regis._

_I think a President will be there. Maybe several._

_Figured you’d have nothing to wear._

He figured correctly, Peter thought. He feels a little light-headed.

_And I’m invited?_

_Why didn’t you tell me?_

_Didn’t I tell you?_

_Happy must’ve told you._

_Anyway, I’m telling you now._

_You’re Rhodey’s friend, aren’t you? Course you’re invited._

‘Friend’ might be a bit of a stretch. Colleague, maybe. They work well together, have each other’s backs, trust each other in a way team-mates have to when it comes to life-and-death situations. They have light-hearted banter during down-time, the way all the Avengers do with each other. But this is like, _a social function_ , outside of work.

_Who else is gonna be there?_

_I will, obviously. I’m the host._

_Exactly. So you’re not gonna be hanging out with me the whole time._

_If I’m not gonna know anyone there and be standing around by the punch bowl all by me onesy, I need to mentally prepare myself._

_No party of mine will ever have a ‘punch bowl’._

_And also, hot young thing like you?_

_I’m sure you won’t be by yourself for long._

Peter flushes. It’s not the first time Tony teases him like this. He does it to everyone though, not just Peter. But it still makes him feel a warm mixture of embarrassed and flattered whenever it happens.

Peter puts away the gifts in his room and stands there for a minute to admire them. Aside from the multimillion dollar Spider-man suit, these are the most expensive things he’ll ever have put on his body. It seems a little disrespectful to hang them up with the rest of his old T-shirts.

His phone pings with another text.

_So are you coming or not?_

_Yes._

_And thank you, Tony. They’re beautiful._

_Great. Someone’ll pick you up. 8pm._

\--

The expensive suit fits him so perfectly that it must’ve been tailored. It’s not the first suit Tony’s made for Peter so it makes sense that he has his exact measurements. Somehow, Peter doesn’t think anything this fancy should feel this comfortable. He admires himself in front of his bathroom mirror and decides he likes the way it looks with the shirt’s top few buttons undone. It makes him look a few years older.

Peter feels pretty awkward being driven up to the steps of St. Regis Hotel, the car door opening to photographers who don’t recognize him but snap a few pictures of him anyway just in case. The venue isn’t as big as he anticipated, almost intimate. He immediately spots Sam Wilson and Natasha Romanoff conversing in a corner and, relieved at seeing familiar faces, walks over to them.

“Hey look at you!” Sam exclaims, catching sight of him. “Spidey cleans up nice!”

Sam, in his dark grey suit, and Natasha, in a stunning deep blue dress, look like they belong perfectly against the resplendent backdrop of the ritzy hotel, while Peter feels literally like a spider that somehow managed to crawl through the cracks.

“Do I really? I’m like sweating in this thing,” Peter says nervously, tugging at his jacket.

Natasha links an arm around his. She smells like roses and vanilla. “Don’t worry about it kiddo. Stick with us and we’ll have you feeling good in no time.” She starts steering him towards the bar. “You’re 21, right?”

“That’s what it says on my ID.” And he’s only a few weeks away from it being a year way from it being true.

“Tony’s gonna kill you,” Sam chuckles behind them, but follows them anyway.

“He can try,” Natasha says with a mischievous smile that looks a little on the dangerous side.

It’s just champagne. Really good champagne, with like, strawberry slices in them. And it’s just a few glasses, really, Peter’s lost count. He thinks he spots Tony on the other side of the room, but he’s surrounded by important-looking old people so he just waves at him in greeting, probably a little too enthusiastically.

It's fun hanging out with Sam and Natasha. He feels a lot more relaxed now that he’s got the sparkly alcohol in his veins, and it’s great fun watching Natasha shoot down, often none too kindly, the guys coming up to hit on her. Sam audibly sniggers into his whisky when Peter stammers his way out of someone – a congressman, apparently? – inviting him to sit at their table. Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes join them, and while the former gives them all rather disapproving looks, he doesn’t say anything about it, and the latter hands Peter another flute of champagne with a devious grin.

Dinner is possibly the best meal Peter’s ever had in his life. Natasha’s on his one side, while Vision, looking neat and dapper in his human skin is sitting on his other side. The rest of the table seats the rest of his Avenger colleagues. The other party guests keep coming up to them to shake their hands or ask to take photos, and they’re all probably wondering why some kid is sitting there with all these larger than life superheroes.

At some point Vision and Wanda leave, and Tony drops into the empty space next to Peter. He looks even more handsome up close, with his coiffed dark hair and neatly trimmed beard, the all-black suit looking absolutely stunning on him. In this proximity, Peter can see that his tie is actually a dark forest green colour.

“God, I’m starving,” Tony complains. “Who do you have to bribe to get some food around here?” He waves to a nearby server and makes complicated gestures towards the table in front of him that’s hopefully interpreted as a request for food.

“I know, right. What kind of party is this? You need to have a serious talk with the host,” Peter teases.

Tony puts an arm around the back of Peter’s chair, peering closely at his face. “Are you drunk?” he asks.

“Nope. Not even a little bit,” Peter assures, draining his current flute of champagne dry. “These are really good. Have you tried them? I’ll get you some.” He turns in his seat, trying to find a server to flag down for some more champagne.

Tony leans around Peter’s front to glare at Natasha, who takes a delicate sip of her own drink.

“They really _are_ very good,” Natasha says innocently.

When Peter turns back around in his chair, his head nearly collides with Tony’s with how close they’re sitting together. “Whoops, sorry, ” Peter giggles, holding a hand to Tony’s shoulder for balance.

A server sets down two fresh flutes of champagne in front of them and Tony grabs both before Peter can get to them. “Nuh-uh, these are both mine now. Can we get some water over here please? Like a whole pitcher?” he asks the server, who murmurs, “of course, sir.”

Peter leans back on his chair with a huff.

“You still hungry? You want some of my risotto?” Tony nods at the plate of food that’s been set before him.

Peter shakes his head. Whoa, maybe he shouldn’t do that. The room continues spinning even when his head stopped moving.

Tony pours him a glass of water and nudges it at him. Tony watches him drink it, eyeing the way his neck moves with the motion of his swallow, gaze flickering down to the undone top buttons of his shirt, a good two inches below his exposed clavicle.

Tony eats his dinner with his left arm still resting on the back of Peter’s chair. Peter continues to drink his water, leaning his head back against Tony’s arm, practically on his shoulder. They’re sitting so close together. It feels nice.

“Tony, where’s the birthday boy? I haven’t seen him all night,” Clint says from across the table, idly twirling a silver fork around between his fingers.

“He’s still holding court with a bunch of senators,” Tony says between chews. “They started talking shop and I got bored so I ditched him. He’ll probably come stomping after me soon.”

Sure enough, Tony had just barely finished his dinner when Colonel James Rhodes appears at their table much to the slightly inebriated cheers and shouts of birthday wishes from the rest of the Avengers.

Rhodey thanks them all with a gracious hand held up before fixing Tony with a glare, “Senator Brinks keeps asking for you. Something about padding out the DoD’s R&D department.”

“I’m a little busy at the moment, unfortunately,” Tony says, wiping the corners of his mouth with a napkin.

“He’s making sure I’m drinking my water,” Peter says, holding up his half-empty glass.

Tony gives him a winning grin, then turns it to Rhodey, announcing cheerfully, “I’m making sure he’s drinking his water.”

Rhodey looks unimpressed. “It’s my birthday, Tony! Don’t make me talk to a bunch of-

“So sit here! Forget about them! It’s your birthday!”

“-I’m not your messenger boy. _You’re_ the one who invited them. _You_ go talk-“

“Have you tried the chocolate souffle?” Tony interrupts, wiggling his fingers at the table. “It’s divine.”

Bucky silently slides over Steve’s untouched souffle and pats the empty seat next to him with a bland smile. Rhodey continues glaring at Tony, eyes darting back and forth between him and Peter, who just sips at his water chastely.

Rhodey sits down with a sigh. He picks up a dessert spoon and points it sternly at Tony’s direction. “Fine, but if any of them so much as _looks_ this way…”

Turns out, while their table is all too approachable for good-natured fans who just want to gush at Captain America, it’s apparently a little too intimidating for government folks who are looking to advance their standing by networking with the Avengers. The rest of the night pass by in pleasant banter, laughter, and desserts. Peter sobers up just enough to feel Tony’s fingers play with the short hairs on his nape. The fluttering in his stomach doesn’t seem to be just from the alcohol now.

At the end of the night, the group take several cars back to the compound but Tony insists on taking Peter back to his apartment in the old Viper he drove in. Peter almost trips on the steps outside the hotel and Tony tells him to be careful as he places a steadying hand on his lower back, helping him into the passenger seat before climbing in the driver seat himself.

Tony roars the sports car out onto the road and Peter sinks comfortably into the leather. He’s so glad he came out tonight. It was fun.

\--

A few days later, someone from Peter’s applied chem lab shows him a paparazzi photo of him and Tony leaving St. Regis hotel on her phone. The shot shows them just as they’re about to get in the car, Tony leaning very close, like he’s whispering in his ear or pressing a kiss to the side of his face, a possessive hand around his waist. The clickbait heading says “ALL ABOUT TONY STARK’S NEW YOUNG LOVER”.

She doesn’t believe Peter when he says they’re just friends and colleagues.

It also doesn’t bolster his defence that Tony’s been sending Peter new clothes since that night, more casual pieces he can wear to class. She can see the designer jeans and brand new red-bottom sneakers he’s wearing under his lab coat and simply raises a dubious eyebrow.

\--

Two weeks later, Tony and Peter are tinkering with the new version of the Spider-man Stealth Suit in the compound’s lab when Tony asks for the time and Peter fumbles in his pocket for his phone to look it up. He’s a bit too slow, F.R.I.D.A.Y. ends up providing Tony with the information. But Tony just stares at Peter with incredulous realization and says, “ _do you not have a watch?_ ”

And so that’s why, despite Peter’s insistence that people his age don’t have watches because they’re obsolete now and hey that’s what phones are for, they’re walking into an Audemars Piguet store on Park Avenue, apparently to rectify that situation.

“Tony, I _do not_ need a sports car on my wrist just to tell the time,” Peter hisses at him as he trails after the man striding confidently into the store. The shopkeepers jump up to greet them with alarming enthusiasm and usher them towards a private viewing table.

“Oh don’t worry about that, I’ve already sent over some more casual watches for everyday wear,” Tony says as they take their seats, taking off and pocketing his colour-tinted sunglasses. “You’re birthday’s coming up soon, right? This one’s a gift.”

The smiling woman helping them introduces herself as Nancy and she lays out a collection of watches that look way too valuable to be sitting out in the open air like that, saying things like ‘new release’s and ‘limited edition’s and ‘exclusive collection’s.

Tony turns bodily to Peter and says sardonically, “So what do you think, honey?”

Peter glances at Nancy and is completely convinced that she doesn’t pick up on the fact that Tony’s just teasing him. She’s just continuing to smile blithely at them, like someone who’s all too accustomed to catering to wealthy, powerful men sauntering into their store, letting their ‘honey’s pick out expensive trinkets on their dime.

“Uh, I don’t know,” Peter says, looking up at Tony coyly, wanting to play a little game of his own. “What do you think will look best on me?”

Tony hums. He takes Peter’s hand and turns it over and over in his, rubbing gently at Peter’s skin with his engineer-calloused fingers. Peter’s face feels warm. “You like red, right? I think I can see you in red, maybe a little bit of blue,” he says, eyes twinkling playfully. He turns to Nancy. “Show us some of those will you? Something classic but … youthful.”

Nancy announces she has _just_ the things and comes out with a whole new set. Peter leans closely to look at them. They’re all so beautiful, sitting there in their plush cases. He can’t believe one of them will be coming home with him today. There aren’t any price tags but he supposes the people who walk into places like these don’t concern themselves with pesky normal-people things like that.

“I can just … choose whichever?” Peter asks Tony shyly.

“Whatever you like,” Tony says easily.

Peter looks back at the watches set before him. He’s drawn to one that has a deep ocean-blue dial with matching leather straps and a rose gold bezel. It’s not as ostentatious as some of the jewel-encrusted ones but still looks exquisite and incredibly well-crafted. The style is simple and classic, like something out of the 50’s, but the vibrant colour gives it a modern touch. He hesitates to touch it, but at Nancy’s encouraging nod, he picks it up and turns it over in his hands. It’s gorgeous.

“You like that one?” Tony asks softly. Peter looks up at him and finds the other man watching him with a fond look on his face. “We can look at some more before you decide.”

Nancy brings out a few more options, but none of them catch Peter’s eye the way the blue one does. He decides to go with his first choice and Tony nods at Nancy, who takes it to ring it up.

As they walk out the store, Peter holds onto Tony’s bicep, leans into him and says with a smile, “Thanks, Tony. Best birthday ever.”

\--

_“Check out Parker’s new bag.”_

_“It’s a Paul Smith, big deal. Did you see the watch he was wearing yesterday?”_

The last lecture of the day had just finished and Peter is packing up his notebooks in the messenger bag Tony had gotten him on a whim after they had lunch together a few days ago. Their little excursion didn’t go unnoticed by the more enterprising tabloid photographers, and Peter has no doubt that the photos reached the social media timelines of some of his classmates.

There’s idle chatter of students all around him, but the voices he’s honing in on are coming from near the back of the lecture hall, farther than what normal human hearing would pick up.

_“Don’t they go way back, though? I heard he did an internship at Stark in high school. I mean, Stark’s pretty generous. Just cause he gets presents from the guy, don’t mean they’re banging, right?”_

_“No, it’s for real. My cousin did a serving gig at an event a few weeks back and they were like, all over each other. The Avengers were there too.”_

_“Man, Stark’s got him meeting the superfam. Must be legit.”_

Peter smiles to himself. He slings his new bag over his shoulder and heads towards the exit, putting on his also-new Ferragamo sunglasses before stepping out into the sun.

\--

The next time Tony takes Peter shopping is when the man goes to get fitted for his own suit as well. Apparently this time, he wants them to match.

“It makes for a good image,” Tony insists. “You’re going to be there representing Stark Industries, as an alum of the September Foundation.”

“You mean the fake foundation you set up for the pretence of taking me to Germany to beat up Captain America?”

“The foundation is real, okay. You ever having gotten one is … less so, perhaps. Hey, there’s a certificate, right? We took photos with it and everything. Just because it’s a cover-up, doesn’t mean it’s not real.”

“That’s exactly what it means,” Peter says flatly.

“Aw, come on, Pete. It’s gonna be so boring and Pepper doesn’t wanna go.”

“A glowing endorsement. I’m utterly convinced now.”

“I’ll buy you something pretty,” Tony cajoles him with a teasing grin.

And so Peter is standing in front of the dressing room at a Gucci store wearing a silk shirt that looks like a cross between a bowling shirt and pyjamas. It’s eggshell white in colour with seafoam green lining the borders and honest-to-God horseback jousters printed on them medieval style. It’s pretty, for sure, but ostentatious to the point of obnoxious, and Peter is _not_ wearing this.

“It’s cute,” Tony comments, looking really pleased with himself. He hands him a jacket. “Here put this on.”

It’s a cream-coloured knit blazer with red and blue trim. That, combined with the white denim pants he’s wearing, subdues the loud shirt by a couple of decibels and it ends up looking rather stylish, Peter has to admit. He looks like a rich kid holidaying in the Hamptons to sail some yachts or whatever it is that they do up there.

Tony himself has gone for a silk floral jacket, a black T-shirt, and light brown pants.

“I thought you wanted us to match,” Peter remarks.

“Yeah, but not like Sweet Valley High twins. I meant complimentary, not identical. Like we’re a team, you know.”

Peter decides not to argue. He supposes the tone and patterns do kind of compliment each other, a little bit, maybe, if he squints. He’s not exactly fashion-literate, so he’ll just go with whatever Tony wants.

At the register, Peter gets that flicker of a look he’s now used to getting from people when they see him and Tony together. Just for shits and giggles, he leans over to Tony, picking at a non-existent thread on the other man’s sleeve and says in his most nonchalant voice, “hey Tony. The shirt I’m getting comes with matching shorts. Can I get them as well?”

Tony glances at him and Peter looks up at the other man through his lashes, eyes wide and guileless. “Yeah of course, whatever you want.” He turns to the man at the cashier and says, “Ring ‘em up too, will you?”

“Certainly, sir. Just a moment while I get them.” He heads back to the store to retrieve the shorts Peter requested, and Peter could swear that he saw a shadow of a smirk sent his way by the staff member.

\--

They don’t look a like a ‘team’, they look like a couple, stepping out of the same Lamborghini in their matching – no, sorry, ‘complimentary’ – outfits. It doesn’t help that Tony has a hand resting on Peter’s lower back as they wade through the photographers, probably intending to be comforting, definitely looking like something a protective boyfriend would do. Peter leans into it without complaint.

The September Foundation is all about sponsoring gifted students to attend prestigious universities, and providing grants to research projects of cutting-edge innovation. The banquet is a semi-formal sort of event, attended by current recipients, candidates, and alumni, as well as distinguished guests from affiliated organizations. Oh, and Peter, who used the foundation for alibi-forming purposes.

And yet Peter’s the one who’s by Tony’s side the whole time as the man introduces him to all sorts of important people from all sorts of Ivy League institutions. Tony sings praises about Peter’s work at Columbia and Peter can see their conversation partners blink in surprise and take a second look at the young man attached to him, dressed to the nines in threads by the same designer Tony is wearing. Peter can see them adjust their impression of him from firstly just as another pretty but empty-headed thing wealthy men like Tony Stark like to play with, to someone who can actually keep up in a conversation with them.

As boring as Tony claimed the event would be, Peter ends up having a pretty good time. The people he speaks to are brilliant and intelligent. But while the conversations they have are engaging and illuminating, nothing beats the way he catches Tony watching him sometimes, his expression soft with fondness and pride. When they’re not schmoozing with the other guests, Peter and Tony have quiet conversations of their own. Peter’s hand comes to a rest on Tony’s chest or bicep as he laughs at some of his outrageous stories about some of the guests. In turn, Tony’s hands are a guiding presence around Peter’s shoulders, on his back, as he’s led around the room.

Peter's leaning on the bar, Tony beside him ordering drinks from the bartender. Peter has managed to convince the man to let him have one (1) drink tonight. All it took was a little "please?", a hopeful smile, and a carefully innocent expression for Tony to roll his eyes good-naturedly and lead him to the bar.

As he waits, Peter's enhanced hearing picks up someone saying his name. It's from a group of young people standing out of normal people's earshot but not out of Peter's. They’re high schoolers or college students, he can't tell. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see them stealing glances his way as they talk about him. He hones in on their conversation.

_"-name's Peter Parker. Goes to Columbia. I heard Stark introduce him to Professor Marshall. He's some kind of prodigy apparently."_

_"Of course he is. You gotta have a serious set of brains to go with that face if you wanna get Stark's attention.”_

_“I bet an ass like that helps though."_

Peter barely suppresses a grin. He doesn't know why it amuses him when people objectify him like that. Maybe because he knows he's more than that. And maybe because he knows he has something everyone wants. Peter looks over at Tony as they wait for their drinks, admiring his handsome, angular profile. There’s no doubt in his mind that most of the guests are wishing they were in his position. Tony glances back at him, an eyebrow raised in question. Peter smiles and shakes his head, _it's nothing._

_"Check out that watch, man. You think the scholarship will come with perks like that?"_

_"Not with that ass you won't. Maybe if you start doing some squats or something."_

_“Could Stark be any hotter though? I can’t decide which would be the better deal, getting a piece of his assets or his … assets.”_

Tony hands Peter the martini he ordered for him while his other hand holds a whisky, neat. Peter gives him a bright, thankful smile, holding eye contact as he pops the olive into his mouth, body almost arching up into him with how close they're standing. Tony regards him with amusement, a flicker of hunger and anticipation in his brown eyes. 

_"Fucking Christ, Stark must be an animal in bed."_

It’s a heady feeling, almost treacherously so, being with Tony this way, being _seen_ with Tony this way. Tony, easily the most powerful man in the room (and the sexiest one to boot), the very reason this entire banquet is even happening, and Peter’s hanging on his arm like a shiny, expensive ornament he’s showing off to everyone. Peter feels like he belongs to Tony Stark and well, that wouldn’t be the worst thing at all.

\--

Tony drives Peter back to his apartment and Peter invites him up for a drink.

“Come on, Tony. You haven’t even seen all the new furniture you told me to get to fill the place up. Don’t you wanna take a look at your investment?” Peter looks at him imploringly, beaming a smile that he’s starting to learn can get the man to do many, many things. He’s also not sure whether the ‘investment’ he’s referring to is the apartment or Peter himself.

Tony obliges, following him up into the apartment.

Peter doesn’t actually have any liquor, but there’s some leftover beer in the fridge from his last group-study session at his place. He takes two bottles and brandishes them sheepishly at Tony, who looks far from impressed.

“You live like this?” Tony says scornfully.

“It’s that or orange juice,” Peter offers.

“I think OJ would be preferable to whatever brand of diluted bread soda you got there.”

While Peter takes off his jacket and pours the orange juice into two clean glasses, Tony wanders around the apartment like he owns the place, which, technically, he does. He’s in the middle of perusing the bookshelf when Peter comes up to him to hand over the glass of orange juice.

“Coelho’s overrated, I think. You like his stuff?” Tony asks, turning to sit on the living room sofa.

Peter shrugs. “A few. I couldn’t finish some of the others.” He’s seated sideways on the couch facing the other man.

Tony takes a sip of his drink and nods approvingly. “At least you got the good pulpy kind,” he says, gesturing at his glass.

“Yeah, you like that?” Peter says a little playfully, a little not about the orange juice. He takes a drink and licks his lips, tracking the way Tony’s eyes drop to them and darken at the motion.

“I like that shirt on you,” Tony says. “It’s so loud you can hear it a mile away.”

“Says the guy with rainbow flowers on his jacket.” Peter laughs. “Wait, you should see how it looks with the matching shorts. It’s ridiculous.” He jumps up and heads to his bedroom, quickly changing out of his pants and into the silk shorts that come down to about an inch above his knees. They’re in the same cream-and-green horse-jousting pattern as the top, and while they’re so, so soft and airy and comfortable, he looks like he’s wearing the wallpaper of the Versailles.

Peter walks out of his room and stands in front of Tony, arms wide and hips cocked like _ta-da!_

Tony bursts out laughing. “Oh, that’s gorgeous sweetheart,” he exclaims, the corners of his eyes crinkling attractively with mirth. “I’m not at all getting noise-induced hearing loss. You should’ve worn that tonight. Nobody would’ve been able to keep their eyes off you. I mean, any less than they already couldn’t.”

Peter steps closer to Tony until he’s standing between his parted knees. “Look it’s got horses on them,” he shows, smoothing out the fabric for the other man to see better.

“I know,” Tony agrees, hands coming up to trace the patterns on his shirt. Peter can feel the warmth of Tony’s hands through the silky material as they caress his stomach, around his waist and lower back, right above the swell of his ass.

There’s the tiniest of tugs, barely even a pressure, but Peter follows it, climbing onto the sofa with his knees on either side of Tony’s thighs, settling on his lap. Peter’s arms wind around Tony’s neck and they’re pressed so close together now, their lower bodies flush against each other, faces centimetres apart. Tony’s hands are slowly rubbing up and down Peter’s back, hitching up the shirt in a tease but never actually touching the bare, heated skin underneath.

“It’s soft, isn’t it?” Peter murmurs. “Thanks for getting them for me. I know it’s kinda gaudy, but … I really like them. Especially cause it’s from you.”

Tony hums indulgently. “I’ll buy you more if you like. Whatever you want. Just say the word and it’s yours.” His hands slide up under Peter’s shirt and the skin-on-skin contact makes Peter’s cock twitch in his silk shorts.

“Hmm, I think I want you, Daddy,” Peter says, giving into the tension and pressing his lips to Tony’s. The feeling of the other man kissing him back and gripping his body tighter makes him moan in pleasure. Tony kisses as confident as he is gentle, taking over Peter’s senses with the assertive movements of his lips, the firm touches of his hands. The taste of Tony’s tongue in Peter’s mouth sends a rush of arousal down his body and into his swelling cock.

Peter finds himself moving his hips instinctively on Tony’s lap, delighted to feel of the other man growing hot and hard for him, wanting more of him. Tony’s fingers dip into the waistband of his shorts, grabbing a handful of his ass and tugging him closer, moving his body so that their clothed cocks rub against each other in an aching, delicious grind.

Tony’s hands are under Peter’s shirt, dragging them up his chest until he’s pulling the piece of clothing off and tossing it somewhere. “Shit, baby,” Tony exhales, admiring Peter’s exposed torso before attacking his bared skin with kisses, sucking and nipping at his shoulders, the ridge of his clavicles, before leaning up to catch Peter’s lips once more in a ravenous kiss.

It’s a thing that’s happening right now, Peter is half naked, making out with Tony Stark on his couch in his apartment, dry-humping like horny teenagers. Peter whimpers into it, letting the kisses and grinding sweep him away into a haze of blissful lust.

Tony stands up abruptly, lifting Peter’s trim form easily, the show of strength making Peter dizzy with arousal even as he clings to him tightly with both arms and legs. Tony carries him to the bedroom, kissing all the way, until he finds a bed to lower him onto.

Peter stretches languidly on it, showing off the lean lines of his bare torso as he watches Tony strip off his jacket and shirt, admiring the way the toned muscles of Tony’s upper body flex as he does so. Tony’s chest is broad and thick, the faint lines of scarring in the centre of it only serving to make him look even sexier.

Peter has one arm under his head, the hand of the other sliding down his bare chest, his stomach, fondling his erection through his shorts. “You know I touch myself just like this, thinking about you, right on this bed,” Peter says. He spreads his legs and teases at his ass crack through the fabric. “Imagined you filling me up so deep, fucking me so good. Can’t wait to feel you in there. You’ll fuck me, won’t you, Daddy?”

“Anything you want, baby,” Tony growls. He’s down to his boxers as he crawls over the young man spread out under him. “Tell me what you need and I’ll give it to you. I’ll give you whatever you want.” Tony kisses Peter like he wants to devour him. Peter’s shorts are loose at the leg holes and Tony has his hands easily thrust under them, grabbing and kneading at Peter’s ass. His fingers find something strappy underneath and he leans back to look. “What’s this, baby? A thong for this special occasion?”

Peter grins up at him mischievously, “No, I’m always wearing this stuff. What, you think I wear boxers under the Spidey suit?”

Tony groans and kisses him, along his jaw, down his neck. “Mm, what you do to me.” Tony’s voice is an aroused rumble at Peter’s throat. “You drive me crazy, you know that?” He kisses down Peter’s chest, rubs a nipple with his thumb and flicks a tongue over the other raised pink bud. “You’re so cute and sexy and-“ Peter squeals as Tony’s stubble rub over the sensitive skin of his stomach, pressing kisses over his abs. “All the time, I just wanna push you down, don’t even give a shit who’s around and just-“ Tony mouths at Peter’s bulge over the silky material of his shorts and Peter whines at the feeling.

Tony yanks Peter’s shorts off and gets a look at his panties. It’s plain and black and _tiny_ , and it barely manages to restrain Peter’s hard, weeping cock and heavy balls. Tony tugs it down just enough to lick a strip up the shaft, mouthing up and around it to get it nice and slick before sinking his mouth over it. Peter’s back arches with a strangled cry as he’s engulfed in that wet warmth.

Tony’s mouth is so fucking clever about it, pulling off with a tight swirl of his tongue before bobbing down until the head of Peter’s cock hits the back of his throat. One of Peter’s hands grips desperately onto a pillow while the other is sunk into Tony’s dark hair, not pushing him down, just feeling the other man’s head sink on his cock over and over.

Tony makes to take the panties off but Peter stills him, telling him all breathless, “fuck me in it. Please? I’ve always imagined you-“ Peter cuts off, biting his lip bashfully.

“Imagined me what, baby?” Tony coaxes, stroking Peter’s cock slowly, still slick with his spit. “Tell me.”

Peter blushes. “I’ve always imagined you buying me panties, and I’ll show them off- nngh-“ Peter moans when Tony ducks to lick a quick stripe up Peter’s cock before continuing to jack him off again.

“Sorry, couldn’t resist. I’m listening, Pete. Keep going.”

Peter huffs, squirming. “I’ll wear them for you and maybe you’d like them on me so much that you’d fuck me in them, right then and there.” Peter moans again, high and desperate, grabbing at Tony’s wrist, stilling his movements. “Daddy, stop, I’m gonna come just thinking about it. Please just fuck me?”

Tony chuckles. “Alright, alright, calm down and suck me off while I get you ready.” He pats Peter’s thigh to get him to scooch over on the bed. He takes off his boxers and lies down with his back against the headboard, fully nude.

“Holy fuck,” Peter breathes. “You’re naked in my bed. Tony Stark is naked in my bed.”

“Uh-huh,” Tony says, grabbing his dick and giving it a few cursory strokes. “This cock ain’t gonna suck itself, baby. Get to it.”

Peter rolls his eyes but straddles the other man just the same, taking the thick cock into his mouth and moaning at the taste. Tony’s flesh is firm and heavy on his tongue and he stretches his lips wide to accommodate his girth, seeing how far he can take him in before he chokes on it. Tony’s so big, Peter is using his hands to stroke the base of his shaft that can’t fit into his mouth. God, he can’t wait to split his ass open on it.

Tony shifts on the bed and Peter whines at being jostled. “You keep lube on your bedside like a normal person, right?” Peter hears him rummaging in the bedside drawer and finding a bottle of lube. “Alright, come up here, baby.” He tugs at Peter’s arm and positions him until he’s facing towards the foot of the bed, on all fours with his ass within Tony’s reach while still being able to blow him.

Peter takes Tony’s cock back into his mouth as he feels him playing with the thong’s strap over the cleft of his ass.

“Your ass is gorgeous, baby boy,” he hears Tony say, feeling the man kneading his ass cheeks, pulling them apart and tugging his panties aside to get a look at his furled, pink hole. “Bet it’d look so good wrapped in lace. I’ll get you something white and lacy like the good, little angel you are.”

Peter moans around the cock in his mouth, so turned on at the thought of Tony Stark buying him panties and wearing them for him. He sucks him in deeper, tighter, making Tony hiss and buck up into his mouth.

There are fingers rubbing over his sensitive hole then he feels Tony’s wet tongue flicking over the tight rim. “Oh my God,” Peter cries out, letting the cock fall out of his mouth and panting against Tony’s thick thigh. Tony’s beard is a rough scratch against the skin of his ass as the man eats him out with slick, tantalizing flicks of his tongue.

There’s lube-slick fingers prodding his hole and a finger slides in, the intrusion a pleasurable burn that makes him gasp. Tony fingerfucks him with wet, in-and-out movements, entering a second finger to scissor him open. He grazes his prostate with every other thrust and Peter is panting onto Tony’s cock, barely able to suck him properly, only capable of giving the weeping head an occasional swirl of his tongue between moans.

Peter yelps when he feels Tony spank and nip at one of his ass cheeks. “Sweetheart, your ass is driving me crazy. Turn around, I need to see it bouncing on my dick.”

Peter straddles the other man, facing him. He bites his lips at the arousing sight of Tony freakin’ Stark laying naked on his bed, _on his bed_ , hair dishevelled and eyes dark with lust. Peter bends down to kiss him, deep and filthy, tasting himself faintly on Tony’s tongue. His cock is aching in his panties as the bulge of it rubs against Tony’s in a delicious grind.

Tony’s hands are on his ass, guiding his movements, fingers slipping down and finding his hole again, dipping in and tugging at the rim.

“Daddy, I can’t wait anymore,” Peter whines, pushing his ass back against Tony’s hand. “I need it inside me.”

“You want my cock?” Tony murmurs against Peter’s lips, licking teasingly at the seam of it. “Take what you want, baby boy. It’s all yours.”

Peter reaches a hand between them to grasp at Tony’s cock, pulling his panties aside and positioning the head at his lubed slippery entrance. He looks into Tony’s eyes, mouth falling open in a soft gasp as the head of it pops in. He sits up to take Tony to the hilt, breathing hard, feeling the length of it stuffing him full.

Peter holds himself up on Tony’s chest and swivels his hips, clenching his inner walls as he pulls up before slamming back down, taking the other man deep inside him, again and again.

“Oh, shit, baby, that’s a neat trick,” Tony groans, hands on Peter’s hips, feeling the bounce of his body sucking his cock in and out of that slick, warm channel.

Peter rides him hard, fucking himself on Tony’s cock like a slut, moaning shamelessly at how fucking good it feels to have Tony moving inside him like that, his girth pulling at his inner walls deliciously. “Oh fuck, Daddy, you feel so good in me,” he moans. “Do I feel good around you? Am I being good for you, Daddy?”

Tony sits up and takes Peter in a claiming kiss, fucking his tongue into Peter’s mouth the way his cock is fucking into his ass. “You’re my best boy, Peter,” Tony growls. “Such a good boy, letting me fuck you in your filthy little panties.”

“I’m gonna ruin them,” Peter mumbles, gyrating his hips. He rests his forehead against Tony’s watching himself rub his wet-soaked panty-clad cock against Tony’s abs. It’s obscenely hot.

“Then ruin them, baby. I’ll buy you some more,” Tony murmurs, cupping Peter’s jaw and tilting it up for a kiss. “I’ll get you all the panties you want and I’ll fuck you in all of them.”

Peter hums pleasantly. “Hmm, sounds good.” He closes his eyes and loses himself into the feeling of Tony’s cock stuffing him so full, hitting all the good places inside him, senses going into overdrive as he rides him harder and faster.

Tony grunts in Peter’s ear, meeting him thrust for thrust, taking his pleasure from that tight little hole even as Peter impales himself desperately on his cock. Peter feels the heat in his belly contracting, coiling, ready to blow. They shove into each other, Tony’s hands a merciless grip on his ass as he pounds into Peter’s prostate, and he can’t hold back anymore.

“Daddy-,” Peter gasps, clutching at the other man’s muscled shoulders, hips moving desperately as he chases his climax. Tony pulls him hard onto his cock and Peter comes with a sharp cry, spilling wet into his soiled panties, hole clenching convulsively.

Tony grunts at the clenching grip around his cock, fucking up into the pliant body in his grip, using him until he climaxes, spilling hot into Peter’s insides with a low, satisfied, groan.

\--

Tony still pays for everything. The groceries that fill up the Avengers’ quarters refrigerator, several high-rise buildings in Jakarta they accidentally demolished during a mission, and the dry cleaning bill when Bruce tripped over Clint’s crossbow in the living room, up-ending his entire bowl of Hunk of Hulk of Burning Fudge ice cream all over the sofa.

But now his routine expenses also include tailored suits for Peter to wear when they attend events together, impromptu trips to Santorini when they find themselves both having a weekend off, and pretty little panties in every style and colour imaginable. (The deep blue satin one with the criss-crossing straps looked particularly fetching wrapped around Peter’s ass as he leaned against the railing of Tony’s yacht against the backdrop of the sun setting on the Aegean Sea.)

The rest of the team had taken the news of their relationship well, and by ‘well’ that is to say, it was hardly news at all. Apparently they had all thought they’ve been together for at least a few months now.

Peter and Tony were curled up, making out on the sofa of the Avengers’ common room when Steve came down from his room and whacked the back of Tony’s head lightly with a rolled up magazine, saying, “get off him, we have training in 5 minutes,” then walked out.

Nobody batted an eye when the two of them enter the training compound hand-in-hand. They did groan in exasperation, however, when Spider-man shot a volley of webs that pinned Iron Man to the far wall, then took the time to retract the nanosuit covering his head to drop a consoling kiss on the helmet’s face slit. Instead of firing up his repulsors and easily freeing himself from the webs, Tony retracted his own nano-helmet to give Peter a proper kiss. They weren’t allowed to spar against each other after that.

Peter officially becomes old news at Columbia, to the students in his year anyway. They pay no mind to his increasingly expensive-looking daily wear but he still gets a few gawks from the freshmen. The chatter that people think he can’t hear increase in frequency whenever paparazzi post photos of them going out to dinner, but it’s not so bad.

Sometimes a silver Audi would be parked outside an apartment building near campus, and three floors up, Tony Stark is fucking Peter Parker into the mattress. It’s hot and sweaty and loud and so fucking good, and afterwards, when Peter is tucked under Tony’s arm as they lay together in bed, legs tangled under the sheets, both sated and breathing heavily, Peter thinks that this isn’t the worst thing at all.


End file.
